What Can I Do
by silly-crookshanks
Summary: The Room of Requirement was built to serve a purpose. Draco Malfoy, a new Death Eater, needed it to repair the Vanishing Cabinet, which he knew would be used in the murder of Albus Dumbledore. Hermione Granger needed it to escape from her heartbreak at Ron and Lavender's relationship. When the two find themselves together in the Room, how will Draco keep his mission a secret?
1. Away From Prying Eyes

Rated T for the swearing that will occur because swearing is a great form of expression, and there will perhaps be some more mature content cropping up. T was a safe place to go.

* * *

It pains me to say that I don't own Harry, or anything to do with his world, but I don't. The characters are hers, no matter how much it feels as if they belong to us. This is my disclaimer.

* * *

'_What can I do to drive away remembrance from my eyes?'_

_John Keats_

* * *

**Chapter One**

**Away From Prying Eyes**

The Room of Requirement has, over the centuries, been the place for the lost to venture, but even the lost have a purpose. Every person who enters into the Room has a purpose; the Room cannot serve its function if there is no requirement for it. These things are very obvious to anyone who has ever used the room, all the young lovers in need of a quiet place, all the desperate children hiding from prying eyes, all the headmasters in need of a chamber pot or two. Although, very few people acknowledge that the Room is used by others, even though most rooms are. That is, after all, the purpose of the Room - to meet the requirements of many, and reveal the secrets of few. The Room is so full of secrets, and lies, and one or two lost souls, so many paths that never cross, so many lives that never expected to touch.

Hermione had never ventured into the Room of Requirement alone; she had never had reason to before. Now, however, she had to get away. She had to disappear, to somewhere she could possibly forget about what she had just seen. She would never be able to forget. How could he? With _her_? She hated him. She hated every part of him, every single terrible, wonderful part. Ron, that blundering, childish, foolish, clueless, perfect boy. He really couldn't see it, could he? She was in love with him, or at least she thought she was. Seeing him with Lavender was so terrible. It was _agony_.

Thoughts raged in Hermione's head like a storm-corrupted sea, making her blind to her peers, deaf to their taunts of sympathy. She wandered aimlessly, tormented, throughout the castle, traipsing back and forth, walking down the same corridors far too many times. Nowhere was quiet enough, lonely enough. 'Let me be alone, let me be lost, let me be hidden,' the thought was constantly going over and over in her head, like some sorry chant. Even in the darkness, there was no place to be truly invisible, except one. The door materialised before Hermione even realised which corridor she was on. Tentatively, she reached out and turned the handle, hearing the definite chink of metal on metal unlocking itself. An unfamiliar scent drifted from inside the room, but as she slinked in, Hermione felt herself be engulfed by the same complete, raw magic that she knew too well. It was the feeling of being needed, being required.

The Room had never looked like this before. Hermione had only known it to be the headquarters of the Dumbledore's Army, where it was equipped with everything the DA had required, dark detectors, Death Eater dummies, and the like. This was something completely different, which made sense to Hermione. She needed it for something different, why should it be the same? Great fragile pyres of broken things, that looked like they could go up in smoke in a second, towered to the ceiling. Mounds of discarded books, tables with strange creatures in jars, an unmade bed piled high with numerous diaries and journals. Everywhere she turned had a strange, labyrinthine quality, it seemed like all of these things, these possessions, had been lost, no, hidden. 'This', Hermione thought to herself, 'must be where people have hidden things, since the beginning of Hogwarts.' Every step she took led here deeper and deeper into Hogwarts' past, the books became older, the dust was set thicker, and the air was more alive with whispers. She was so far in now; she couldn't see the great entrance doorway, although Hermione suspected that had disappeared long ago.

The tears had stopped now, but the torment was still alive and raging inside her head. She wiped away the running tears from her cheeks, and paused to rub her eyes. It was remarkable here. Hermione was alone, finally, to be one with her feelings, away from prying eyes. Even Ron had seen her flee from the Common Room, so how was she ever supposed to leave?

"Work, stupid thing, stupid, bloody, useless, worthless, hopeless thing. Why doesn't it _work_?" Hermione froze, panic filling every area of her body, her eyes wide with confusion and alarm. Who was that? Who else was in the Room? The Room was only able to serve one purpose at a time; this was impossible, she had to be alone. Slowly, Hermione backed towards a small alcove of gutted wardrobes. Silence. Relief flooded over her body, it had just been her mind, so confused it was playing tricks on her... Then, suddenly, from not very far away, the voice came again. "Stupid thing. They're going to kill me. Why, please work, please…" There was a faint sense of recognition, Hermione had heard that snarly drawl before, but now, it was different. There was pain, and anxiety, and fear in this voice. Hermione backed a little too quickly into the piles of furniture, and suddenly, almost as if it had been choreographed, the broken shards of wood came tumbling down. Terrified, only this time for her life, Hermione half ran, half flung herself out of the path of the falling debris. "What the hell?" alarm traced through the voice now, and as she heard soft footsteps striding towards her, Hermione's worst suspicions became a reality. The harsh, platinum blond head of Draco Malfoy came into view, and Hermione froze, just as Draco did.

"_Malfoy?_" she breathed, unable to fathom much else.

"Granger? How the hell did you get in here?" Draco faltered, his usual sneer distorted by a look of panic and confusion.

"I don't, I had to, um, I-"

"Well get out! You can't be here!"

"No," Hermione's voice was almost inaudible, even to herself, "I, I can't."

"What do you mean you can't? Get out! You prying, nosy, filthy mudblood!"

"Nothing you say is going to change my mind, Malfoy. I need this place right now, and evidently so do you. I'm staying." She surprised herself with her new found voice, daring herself to take a step towards Draco, who stumbled back.

"You don't understand, you have to get out. Just, just leave, now."

"No. I'll stay out of your way, and you stay out of mine, this room is plenty big enough for the both of us." Hermione was astounded by what she was saying, in what world did she speak like this to anyone, let alone Malfoy? She wasn't herself, at all, her head was corrupted with jealously and confusion, and now even in the place she thought to be silent, someone would hear her screaming.

"Please?" Despair swelled in the boy's eyes, and some strange other emotion Hermione had never before seen on Draco's face.

"No." She turned, and abruptly began striding down a small corridor of mould-mottled mirrors, trying desperately to appear like she knew where she was going.

Hermione threw herself into a large armchair, which gave out a magnificent cloud of dust. Her spluttering slowly turned to whimpering, which in turn became weeping. The only place where she thought she would be alone, and Draco Malfoy turns up, out of the blue. Nothing, nothing, ever went in Hermione's favour. With tears still streaming down her face, she rummaged about in the boxes surrounding her chair for something to occupy her mind. Hermione pulled a large, leather-bound book from amidst the jumble, wiping away the dust set in the gold lettering, she read '_John Keats, The Major Works_'. Reading some Keats, a muggle poet her parents enjoyed, seemed like a good enough way to pass the time and allow herself to brood, after all, the majority of Keat's poetry was written while he pined to be in love, or longed to be out of it. Hermione didn't know how long she spent flicking through the volume, making a mental bookmark of all the poems that had reflected her personal angst. One thing she prided herself in was her ability to completely lose herself in the printed word. She was so enveloped in her reading, she didn't hear the footsteps approaching, so when Draco spoke, Hermione jumped with a start.

* * *

I don't know what finally made me write some long fanfiction, let alone a Dramione. Now, however, upon writing the characters some more, I am thoroughly in love with them.

If you don't like English Romantic poetry, all I can hope is that you'll appreciate it. This story was born from a poem, by the must wonderful, most tortured Romantic poet, John Keats. Keats will be making a few, important, appearances, I couldn't help but put him in. The poem 'What can I do to drive away remembrance from my eyes' is ridiculously beautiful, if you can get past the older English. It's easily my favourite poem, and will, probably, be the main poem, if not the only, to feature. Who knows, perhaps Hermione can give Draco some lessons in English Literature.

I'll try to update at least once a week. I find, if I have a lot of time, and if there's a lot of demand for it, I'll update more regularly, as seen with my first three chapters - all uploaded in one weekend. However, taking a week to write a chapter allows me to review it, and make it the best it can be, so, we'll see what works out.

I'm already astounded by the responses. May I just say now, I love you all to pieces. You're reading this now, you don't have to review, or favourite or subscribe or any of that to know that because you're reading my writing I love you, ok. Seriously. If you're new to reading my stuff, I have a headcanon blog, which you can find in my author description, if you want to read more of my things. If you have any queries, or requests, or anything, don't hesitate to message me. :)

_silly-crookshanks xx_


	2. An Apology

**Chapter Two**

**An Apology**

"Merlin, I didn't mean to make you jump like that." Draco snorted, "I hope you don't make a habit of coming here, to…read. They have books in the library."

"Yes, but there are people in the library."

"I'm here. I'm a person." His voice was quiet; underneath his sneer there was a hint of pity.

"You don't count, Malfoy." Hermione lifted her eyes tentatively to Draco's, only to quickly look away. Guilt resonated on her mind. That was cruel, even though she had meant it sarcastically.

"Never thought I did."

"I'm sorry, that was out of line."

"Not really." There was silence, only for a little while, but it was enough for Hermione to pick up on Draco's uneven breathing, it was quickened, almost as if he was nervous. Then, all of a sudden, Draco turned and began walking away, only to turn back, obviously frustrated.

"Why did you come over here, Malfoy?"

"I knew you didn't leave. I could hear the rustle of whatever that is you're reading." He nodded towards the book in Hermione's hands.

"It's Keats."

"I don't really care. Look, I'm sorry I called you a mudblood." A slight smile broke over Hermione's lips.

"I might be able to forgive you. It's not like I'm not used to it."

"Why are you even here?" Draco's awkwardness at the situation was apparent in his face, making conversation never had been one of his fortes.

"I had to get away."

"From what?"

"Why do you care?"

"As heartless as I may seem, Granger, whenever anyone runs into the Room of Requirement sobbing even I know something's up."

"Why should I tell you?" Hermione rose from her chair, the book of Keats cradled in her arms, as a barrier between her and Draco.

"I might be able to help?"

Hermione gave the ghost of a laugh. "Really, you think you can help?"

"No, not really, but I might as well try. It'll be a good distraction."

"A distraction from what?" Hermione knew, as did Harry and Ron, that Malfoy was up to something, but this seemed so strange. Why was he in the Room of Requirement? Only, it made sense. Draco didn't appear on the Marauders Map, and it was impossible that he was leaving the Hogwarts grounds time and time again, so the Room of Requirement was the only place he could be. Why hadn't they worked it out before?

"You don't want to know." Draco slowly walked away from Hermione, searching for something to sit on, until he found the twin to the armchair Hermione had been reading in. He dragged it so that the two chairs were facing each other, about a metre or so apart, and sat, crossed-legged, his hands on his ankles, smiling a sad, sorry smile, gesturing with his head for Hermione to sit too.

The Vanishing Cabinet stood only thirty feet or so away, far too close for Draco's liking. He hated being with the thing anyway, it radiated a more terrible kind of Dark Magic than he had ever experienced before. Dark Magic had always been prominent in his upbringing, but the stuff in Borgin and Burkes could never compare to this. He knew perfectly well the reason why he had been asked to repair it. By the end of the year, Albus Dumbledore would be dead, and he would have played a part in it. Merlin, Draco might even be the one to kill him. If that were so, the triumph and envy he would receive from the Death Eaters would be unrivalled. Despite all this, however, Draco tried, as hard as he could, to delay the repairing of the cabinet. He knew that everyone was becoming frustrated with him, but something was holding him back.

Draco's thoughts danced between the Vanishing Cabinet and the girl who sat before him. Hermione Granger, of all the people who could have pranced right into his work, it had to be her. Thank Merlin it wasn't Weasley, or worse still, Potter. She'd tell them, about him being here. Soon enough, they'd all discover why he was never seen roaming the halls like he used to. They'd discover what he was building, and from that they'd find out what the Dark Lord was planning for Dumbledore. He had to stop her from finding out. He had to stop her from telling. Anything to keep it a secret, he would do anything.

* * *

"Are you going to say anything, or are you going to look at me strangely for the rest of the evening?" Hermione wore a blank expression, fighting back both tears and cries of confusion.

"Oh, sorry."

"This is weird."

"Yeah. It is." Draco allowed himself a quiet laugh. This really was weird. Surreal. This morning, he would never have pictured himself sitting opposite a tear drenched Hermione Granger in the Room of Requirement, discussing the state of their conversation.

"If we're just going to see how awkward this conversation can get all night then I think I'd better be going." Hermione readied herself to get out of the chair, but stopped.

"I thought you said you couldn't leave."

"I did. You're right. I can't."

"Then don't." Draco's gaze found Hermione's eyes, daring her to look directly at him. "Why are you here, Granger?"

"If I were to say you'd laugh at me."

"My laughing at you has never seemed to bother you before. I did it all the time."

"True."

"Go on then. Why did you run into the Room of Requirement crying?"

"I needed somewhere to hide."

"_From?_" Draco prompted. "What from, Granger?"

"Ron."

"Weasley? Why?"

"He's got a girlfriend."

"By Merlin, how did that buffoon get a girlfriend?" The Slytherin's laughter echoed around the Room. "You're joking, right?"

"He's not a buffoon," Hermione said, loudly, anger rising in her voice.

"I'll have to disagree with you on that one, Granger," a sneer formed on Draco's lips, "anyway, why does it matter to you, Weasley having a girlfriend?"

Hermione took a deep, disjointed breath. "I like Ron."

Shock filled Draco's eyes; his sneer vanished, replaced by a dumfounded look. "_Weasley?_"

"Yes. Weasley."

"So he got a girlfriend, and you came to be lost in the Room of Hidden Things?" Tears began to swell in Hermione's eyes once more, only this time she let them fall. They blossomed as they hit the paper of the book of Keats, but she didn't go to shut it. Hermione buried her head in her hands, and, as silently as she could, began to weep.

"Oh Merlin, don't cry, please, oh shit, it'll be ok. Weasley's a git, anyway." Draco sprang from his chair, and slunk towards Hermione, to awkwardly pat her on the shoulder.

Her crying stopped, and she looked up, incredulously at the boy who stood before. "What the hell, Malfoy? You didn't need to pet me." The words came stifled by chokes of misery.

"Well, what else was I supposed to do?"

"Leave me alone, perhaps?" At this, Draco slowly backed away.

"Do you want me to leave you alone?"

Hermione sighed as she wiped away her tears, her head now throbbing. "No, not really, but I think I ought to go anyway."

"You can stay if you want."

"I don't know if I want to or not." Hermione finally rose from her chair, "how do you get out of here?"

"From here, you take three lefts, two rights, and then just keep walking." Hermione looked to the book lying open on the chair. For good measure, she picked it up, and tucked it carefully under her arm - it was highly unlikely that the owner of the book was even alive, with the age of the book, let alone going to come back to claim it. "Hermione?" She jumped at the sound of her own name.

"Yes…Draco?"

"You won't tell anyone about this will you?" A debate raged in Hermione's mind for a few moments, on the one hand, she would have to face the mortification of admitting to everyone that Draco Malfoy had comforted her while she cried, but on the other, telling was the right thing to do.

"No, I won't." Relief washed over Draco, but he was careful not to let it show.

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Draco."

"Are you going to come back?"

"We'll just have to wait and see, won't we?"


	3. Flightless

**Chapter Three**

**Flightless**

The soft flump of a delicate body hitting hard wood sent Draco's hopes cascading into nothing. This was the second bird Draco had sent through the Vanishing Cabinet, only for it to be returned dead. Draco knelt before the Cabinet, and carefully, almost tenderly, cupped the bird in his hands, and lifted it from the Cabinet's floor. The thing felt so limp in his hands, so very dead. It was a small bird, a nightingale, which he had found fluttering about one of the Owlery towers one night. Oh, how it had sung. Before Draco sent it through the Vanishing Cabinet, the little bird had flitted from one perch to the next; singing out an unsuspecting tune, innocent, and then he had sent it to its death.

Draco raised himself slowly from the cold stone floor, unsure what to do with the flightless songbird in his hands. What was he supposed to do with a dead bird? He had to report to his father that the Vanishing Cabinet was still not repaired, and face the humiliation of yet another tantrum on Lucius's part. Draco was beginning to tire of his father, and his father's goals for him. How was he supposed to do what his father expected of him, killing Dumbledore, when he could barely hold himself together at the death of a bird? Draco was on the brink of tears, at the bird, at his father, at his fate, that he almost didn't hear the sharp click of shallow heels on the stone slabs. Hermione? It had been almost three weeks; they had both completely ignored each other in the corridors, and when, by chance, their eyes met, both would give a rudimentary scowl. At first, he thought she wouldn't be able to get into the Room again, but then, he hadn't thought she would bother retuning. Draco hesitantly turned around, to see Hermione, equally as hesitant, pacing towards him.

"Granger, you're back?" Draco stared incredulously at the girl. She hadn't been crying this time, but the pain was evident in her eyes. The two held each other's gaze for a moment, before Hermione's eyes darted to the ground.

"I thought, I thought you asked me to come to see you?"

"No, I asked if you were going to come back."

"That's the same thing, Malfoy."

"No, it's not." A small smile formed on Draco's lips. Had he asked her to come back? He couldn't remember. Anyway, she was here, which meant she wasn't trying to fathom, with Potter and Weasley, why he was in here.

"Well, I can leave if you want, I'll find somewhere else to-"

"No, please, I didn't mean it like that, stay." Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Stay? Please?"

"Why do you want me here, anyway?" Hermione was utterly astonished at the situation. A month ago, she would have laughed if anyone had told her that she was coming back to see Malfoy. She wasn't really coming back specifically to see him, of course, she still felt sick at the sight of Ron and Lavender, the putridly sweet smiles on their faces, she needed to get away.

"If I was to say I hated being alone in here, and seeing as you're the first person to ever be able to get into the Room while I'm working, I could do with the company, even if it is from you, you wouldn't believe me." The lie tasted rancid on Draco's tongue. Of course he didn't need company. While he hated being near the Vanishing Cabinet, he liked being alone. When he was alone, he could explore his self, because no one know whom Draco Malfoy was. He needed this time to decide, whether what he was doing was the right thing. He needed Hermione here, to stop her from telling Potter about the Room of Requirement.

"From me? What is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you know, I'm a Slytherin, you're a Gryffindor, your best friend and I have been sworn enemies since first year, etcetera." Hermione shook her head in disbelief, at Draco, at the situation, at their conversation, at herself.

"How did I find you? I couldn't remember how I got out the last time, even though you told me, and–"

"The Room has a knack for knowing where you want to go."

* * *

Draco knew he had to get Hermione away from the Vanishing Cabinet, before she started to ask questions. He was deeply surprised that she hadn't already made the connection between the open Cabinet, and the dead bird he was still clutching. For someone unnaturally intelligent, she was remarkably blind. Draco began walking down the corridor of mirrors which led to the two chairs, which had remained in the position they were in the last time, facing each other. He paused, and allowed Hermione to catch up with him. They walked together through the corridor, their images distorted and deformed by the moulded mirrors. Draco shortened his usually long stride, to prevent Hermione from falling behind. Both knew that it was strange; to be walking together, alone in the Room of Requirement, but everything about their situation was strange, wasn't it?

"What is that you're holding?" Hermione's gaze was directed to the small bundle of askew feathers in his hands.

"A dead bird?" Concern flooded into Hermione's eyes.

"Why are you holding a dead bird, Draco?"

"I found it." Draco's voice was suddenly stern, authority forced into each word. Hermione didn't reason to question it. There was pain in the boy's grey eyes. Hermione hadn't noticed it before, but those eyes, harsh as they were, were flecked with hints of blue, and some bright silver. She daren't look at them for too long. She didn't even know why she had felt the desperate need to come back in the first place. Hermione had known something like this would happen; it would be equally as awkward as the last time. How stupid she had been, thinking it would be a good thing, coming here. If anything, it just reminded her of the hurt she had felt the night Ron and Lavender first got together. The dead bird in Draco's hands took her back to one poem she had read time and time again, from the volume of Keats. She remembered one line, in particular, and wondered it aloud,

"_My muse had wings, and ever ready was to take her course_."

"What?"

"Poetry, Malfoy. Poetry."

"Why?"

"_Philistine_," Hermione muttered under her breath, "I don't understand you, Malfoy."

"I don't understand you, either."

"You're trying to be two people, all the time. Does anyone actually know who you really are, Draco?"

"I highly doubt it. My father wants me to be some great hero; my mother just wants me to survive. I can't do both."

"A hero of what?"

"I don't know yet." That was a lie. Draco knew perfectly well that his father expected him to be the one who would kill Dumbledore. He could never tell Hermione that, if he did, she would run straight to Dumbledore, Potter, McGonagall, everyone.

"You're a different person in here, outside you're so distant, and…"

"A git?" Draco suggested.

"Yeah, a git."

"Glad to see the cool, pompous, rich kid ethos is paying off."

"And in here, you're a different person as well! You go from detached to welcoming, to apparently hating me, to acting like we're friends. Why can't you just be one person, Draco?"

"I not one person, though. Everyone has ideas of who I am, and I have to be those people, all the time."

"Not all the time. Just be you."

"I don't know who I am."

"Try?"

"I don't know how."

There was silence. It wasn't awkward, or tortious, or odd, it was just silence. Hermione pondered the situation, Draco Malfoy, and Hermione Granger, sitting opposite each other, revelling in the quiet. What would Harry and Ron think, if they knew she was here? Would Ron even care? She thought back to the strange cabinet Draco had stood before when she entered the Room. It was very tall, and would be just wide enough to get a person through. Hermione searched through her memories for what the object was, but she couldn't put her finger on it. It was probably nothing anyway. Draco was still clutching that dead bird. The way he looked at it was pitiful, like he had lost a friend. She decided not to question the cabinet or the bird, if they continued having conversations like this, she would have plenty of time to ask. As she looked to the boy who sitting opposite her, Hermione couldn't help but feel strangely compassionate for him. It was an alien emotion to associate with Draco; after all, he himself had admitted that he was a git. The boy confused, and intrigued her.

* * *

"Draco?" Hermione spoke softly, so not to startle him.

"Yes?" His voice was groggy, almost as if he was waking from sleep. Draco didn't look up from his lap.

"Have you seen anyone about this?"

"What?" He glanced up to see Hermione looking anxiously at him.

"I think you might have something, and I mean this in the most sincere way, wrong with you…"

"Something like Dissociative Identity Disorder?"

"Maybe not as extreme as that..."

"I went to St Mungo's for a week in the summer holidays. They couldn't do anything. I evidently don't have a disorder - what I've got, it's just me. Anyway, all this really started at the end of last year, and you don't develop a mental disorder just like that. They're serious, and there are lots of contributing factors, you can't control whether you get one or not. There's nothing wrong with me, I just have to please a lot of people." His voice was flat, forced.

"I know. I know what it feels like, having to please everyone." Hermione gave a genuine smile. Regret and anger corrupted Draco's previously peaceful eyes, and he sprang from his chair.

"Why am I even telling you all this? You're Hermione Granger! You don't give a shit about me or anything to do with me, except from protecting your perfect little world!" The words rang in Hermione's ears for some moments. Obviously regretting shouting at her, Draco sank back into his chair, forcing back the look of shame in his eyes.

"I care when someone needs help. You need help."

"We both need help." His snarl was back, cruel and cutting.

"We could help each other." Hermione slide off her chair, and hesitantly walked towards Draco. Carefully, she prised the bird from his hands, watching sorrowfully as confusion corrupted his face, and held it, just as tenderly, in her hands. The little thing was warm, from being held for so long. "I'll come back. You stay here, in the Room. I have to see to this." She gestured towards the flightless bird in her hands, and slowly walked away. It was only at the end of the mirrored corridor that she looked back, but Draco had already gone.

* * *

Before someone points it out and scolds me, I have realised that by this time, Lucius is already in Azkaban. I don't really want to change it, but he will get sent to Azkaban soon, promise.

_silly-crookshanks xx_


	4. Reflections

**Chapter Four**

**Reflections**

It was the middle of November, but felt later. The hours of daylight were steadily growing shorter, the days themselves were darker, the air was thicker; angry, grey clouds hung low around the castle. Each time night fell, earlier and earlier each day, the fog appeared to be heavier, denser, working its way into the student's lungs, slowly, ever so slowly, enveloping, suffocating them. Winter was truly nestling in, encasing Hogwarts with an inescapable chill. Walking around the castle, students wore their longer, thicker, woollen cloaks, which hung low at their ankles, threatening to trip up any unfortunately short first years. The meals served at supper were richer; instead of the quiches and tureens of light soups, which adored the tables in summer, the tables were laden and weighed down with great vats of stew, heavy roasts, and platters of earthy, winter vegetables. Hagrid could frequently be seen venturing down to tend to his crop of Christmas trees, which, in the devastating cold, often gave one or two visible shudders. In the mornings, frost coated everything it could touch, adding a fine, iridescent, frozen dust to windows, paving stones, door handles, and the odd broomstick which was accidentally left outside after Quidditch practise. The Black Lake began to threaten to freeze over, which caused a great discomfort to the Giant Squid. Some students resorted to borrowing the earmuffs from the Herbology Department to avoid the frosty bite of the wind, while others preferred to adorn numerous scarves, and multiple pairs of socks.

Despite having a lot on her mind, Hermione never failed to notice all of these things around her. Hogwarts itself gave her a valuable distraction from all of the odd things that had happened recently; Ron and Lavender forming a relationship, Harry disappearing off to see Dumbledore, Draco frequenting the Room of Requirement, and her conversations with him there. She pondered upon these things as she sat, quite still, in the Room itself.

The Room of Requirement had changed. No longer was it large, cavernous, and filled with the hidden things that had long been lost. Now, it was a library. Small, with a low roof that was adorned with soft lights, which, if you looked closely enough, would reveal to be tiny stars, conjured on a whim. It was cosy, just comfortable enough to allow Hermione, for a few moments, to forget. Somehow, the armchair from the Room of Hidden Things had made its way into the library, which nothing less than intrigued her. She had arranged herself in the chair so that her legs were dangling off one arm, and her head and neck rested on the other, a position she had never before found comfortable. The book in her hands had easily become her favourite; she had thoroughly dusted the old volume, so now the golden lettering of '_John Keats, The Major Works_' glinted occasionally in the light. Hermione was unsure why she was so drawn to the muggle poet, perhaps because her parents admired him so much.

Hermione couldn't help but feel like she was hiding from her problems, tucked away in that little room. At _some_ point, she'd have to go outside again, she'd have to face Ron, and Lavender, and Harry, and Draco, and everybody else. Frankly, she would have been perfectly content in the Room of Requirement forever - in there; she didn't have to face the mortification of still being in love with a boy who blindly, carelessly broke her heart. She did love Ron, she was sure of it, if not love then deep, deep affection. Each and every time Ron, by chance, looked at her - he didn't do it very often anymore - Hermione would get that strange, fluttering feeling one only reads of in books, and she _hated _him for it. She hated that blundering idiot. She hated the smug smirk he gave whenever Lavender was hanging off his arm. She hated the overbearing self-pride he walked with after any Quidditch game. She hated the way he dismissed her. She hated his smile. She hated his eyes. She hated his everything, because, truthfully, he was _her _everything. Surely he knew that?

Hermione felt her fingers tense around the corners of the book, and, for a moment, stopped reading. Usually, thinking about Ron made her either want to throw something, or break down and cry, but now she simply felt phlegmatic. Of course, she was angry, and hurt, and confused, but she had other things on her mind. Harry was having little luck with charming Slughorn into relinquishing his memories, and his frustration was beginning to show. There was very little Hermione could do, and she hated being in a position where her vast, encyclopaedic knowledge couldn't help. It wasn't as if she hadn't tried, the sheer amount of books she had checked out of the library to read up on everything, anything that might possibly be of some use had concerned even the librarian. Despite her best efforts, for one of the first times in her life, she was completely thwarted.

Then, of course, there was the new matter of Draco. Of all people that could have strolled into her life at this exact point, it _had_ to be him. Hermione closed the book, which still lay open in her hands, and carefully lay it on her stomach. Her hands now free, she rubbed her eyes, brushed away the stray hairs from her face, and frowned up to the ceiling. Something that still dumbfounded Hermione was how she had been able to enter into the Room of Requirement when Draco was still inside, despite not knowing his purpose. It was evident from the beginning that she was quite unwelcome, but what also surprised her was the speed at which he warmed to her. After six years of frank abuse, this sudden change in attitude made Hermione highly sceptical. What was he doing in that Room? She had seen him visibly panic when her eyes drifted to the cabinet he stood in front of, which evidently meant he was hiding something. Hermione's inquisitive nature was beginning to take hold, and possible answers for the many questions she had concerning Draco Malfoy dashed through her already busy head.

A pang of guilt erupted in the back of Hermione's mind. She had said that she would come back, after seeing to the dead bird, and while she had gone back to the Room of Hidden Things, she hadn't been able to find Draco. In fact, she hadn't seen him around school at all. The boy fascinated her. How he had changed in the last months, but still remained the same arrogant first year she had encountered on the Hogwarts Express. She never had told Harry, or Ron, or Ginny, or Luna, or anyone, but despite all his faults and simply repugnant qualities, Hermione couldn't help but feel sorry for Draco. He had been raised in a house full of Dark Magic, with an Death Eater for a father, he was most likely bullied into being a bully himself, his parents efforts to allow him to live in comfort had meant that he had grown up to become spoilt and arrogant. Albeit, Hermione had felt much less pity for Draco Malfoy when he was being, for want of a better word, a git, but now she felt increasingly protective over the boy. He was so tired, his usual pompous strutting around the castle replaced by a fatigued stupor of a walk. In each lesson Hermione shared with him, he either handed in his homework late, or didn't hand it in at all, how he would pass his NEWTS was a mystery. Most of all, however, she was increasingly concerned by how scared Draco appeared to be. Each time some unexpected noise sounded, each time someone who he hadn't seen before crossed his path, a look of confusion and terror would rupture in his eyes. She couldn't help but notice it. Hermione hated seeing any person in distress, any person afraid, even if this particular person had called her a mudblood on numerous occasions. She_ had_ said that they could help each other. Draco needed help to find himself, so that is what Hermione would do. Somewhat satisfied with her decision to help Draco, Hermione again picked up the volume of Keats, let it fall open to a random page, and began to read. She had pondered searching through the shelves of the library that surrounded her for a new book, but she was already so comfortable, Hermione decided against it.

The door to the Room swung open with such force - it startled her so much that Hermione dropped the volume of Keats to the floor, her finger catching one of the pages as it fell, leaving a small, but agonisingly painful, paper cut. Hermione sucked on her throbbing finger indignantly, and turned around to see an unnaturally cheery, albeit tired, Draco Malfoy. Somehow, underneath his character sneer, there was the slight hint of playfulness.

"A _library_? Typical."


	5. Homework

**Chapter Five**

**Homework**

"Draco?" Hermione exclaimed, her head fuzzy from the taste of her own blood from the paper cut.

"No, it's Gwenog Jones, captain of the Holyhead Harpies. Who did you think it would be, Granger?"

"Not funny, Malfoy."

Draco spied Hermione inspecting her finger, a look of annoyance inhabiting her face. "Is that a paper cut?"

"No Draco, it's Gwenog Jones, captain of the Holyhead Harpies. Of course it's a paper cut."

Draco snorted, bemusement filling his smirk. "Why have you got a paper cut, pray tell?"

"You made me drop my book, Malfoy."

"Is my presence really that startling? Wow, Granger, I always knew you harboured some irrepressible desire towards me, but this -"

"Hold your tongue, Malfoy, unless you want me to hex it off."

"Charming. It was a joke, Hermione."

Hermione huffed indignantly, extracted her wand from her pocket, muttered _'episkey'_, and impatiently waved her finger in the air, waiting for the wound to heal. "How did you get in here, Draco?"

"Same way you did, the first time. We both required the same things. Now you know how it feels, to have someone barge his or her way into _your _Room of Requirement. Not nice is it?"

"I didn't _barge_ my way into the Room, Malfoy." A scowl erupted on Hermione's face. Draco was definitely pushing his luck now.

"You're right, it was more of an orchestrated train crash, what with you destroying all those wardrobes. I had to clear those up, after you went, you know." Hermione acted as if she hadn't heard Draco's remark, and continued to prod her finger, frowning at the fading white line. It seemed as if 'git Draco' had returned. The boy who had cradled the dead bird was gone, replaced by the cruel Slytherin Hermione knew only too well. This boy would call her a mudblood and not apologise. This boy would insult her, and her friends. This boy despised her, and Hermione despised this boy. Admittedly, she hadn't despised the Draco that she had seen before in the Room, the Draco who had talked openly about himself, but she wouldn't admit that, even to herself. Hermione could never despise someone who accepted his or her vulnerability.

* * *

Hermione hadn't noticed, but Draco had been slowly edging his way into the Room, and was now setting a heavy bag to the floor, before sitting down, cross-legged, holding his ankles. An expecting look appeared on his face, as he surveyed the girl who sat before him. Hermione had stopped fiddling with her finger now, which appeared to be completely healed, but still refused to look at him. Her eyes were firmly fixated on her now healthy hand, as she inspected it for any non-existent damage. Draco was relieved that it had indeed been Hermione in the Room, rather than anyone else. Anyone else could have discovered the Vanishing Cabinet. Hermione, however, could be kept distracted. She would never have to know about the Cabinet, until the night when the Death Eaters would attack. He would have kicked himself for it in any of their previous years, but Granger wasn't too bad company. She gave educated and quick replies, and, to Draco's surprise, was remarkably accepting. Not many people would have tolerated him in the way she had, especially during their last encounter in the Room. The thought of it made Draco cringe. What had he been thinking, telling her all of those things about himself? He hadn't been thinking. He could have easily let something slip about why he appeared to be so different in the main school. He could have easily let something slip about the Dark Lord's plan for him. Draco shuddered at the thought. No one must _ever _know.

The Room had been quiet for some time. The silence was almost tangible, it buzzed like some strange insect in their ears, pleading to be heard, pleading to be broken. It was Draco who spoke first, taking a deep, steadying breath as he did.

"I'm sorry, Hermione."

"What for, Malfoy?" she spat venomously.

"I know I'm not the nicest person. Being nice doesn't come naturally to me. I'm cruel. I make snide remarks. I'm a git, and I can't help it."

"I've never noticed!" her sarcasm was bitter even on Hermione's tongue. "Somehow, I'll have find a way to forgive you, won't I." she finally looked at Draco, who had a genuine smile on his face; he looked somewhat pleased with himself. Hermione couldn't remember the last time she had seen a real smile on Draco's face, "How did you know I was here, anyway?"

"You weren't in the library, where else would you be? I asked some Ravenclaw third years where they had last seen you, and they said they'd seen you pacing weirdly on the third floor corridor, and I knew."

"You came looking for me?" Hermione raised her eyebrow incredulously.

"Obviously."

"That's not like you."

"Who're you to say what I'm like, Granger?"

"Well, considering for the past six years you've acted like I'm the utter scum of the earth…"

"I told you I'm not a nice person." Draco gave a weak smile. His eyes appeared dazed, as if he were far away, reminiscing over all the times he had acted hostilely towards the girl who sat before him.

"Why did you come to find me?"

"Oh, just to talk."

"Really?" Hermione's voice sang with scepticism.

"And for you to help me with my Charms homework." Hermione gave an irrepressible laugh.

"Oh I see. Be a git, make me forgive you, and then ask me for something. I am _not _helping you with your homework, Malfoy."

"Please?" Draco drew out the 'e', so that his plea became more of a whine. Hermione contemplated the proposal for some time. It was only homework. They could easily get it done in half an hour, at the most, but it was against her morals. Heavens, she didn't even let Ron copy her homework.

"Fine. Only this once, mind you."

"I knew I could convince you."

Draco rummaged around in the heavy bag he had brought into the Room with him, fishing out a worn quill, a bottle of ink, and several crumpled rolls of parchment. Hermione, who up to this point had remained in her chair, slid onto the floor, and shuffled awkwardly to Draco's side.

"Right, it's a three-thousand word essay on the benefits of using Charms to assist in defence against the Dark Arts, and then there's a work sheet on unusual charms, and I have to practise the _avis _spell."

"Draco!" Hermione exclaimed, despairingly, "those homeworks were set _weeks _ago. Have you not handed in one Charms homework since the beginning of term?"

"I've handed in _some._ I don't have time to worry about silly things like homework anymore."

"_Draco!_" Hermione acted as if he were committing sacrilege, which, in her studious eyes, he was, "this is your NEWT year! Do you want a career?"

"I already have a career." As soon as the words escaped his mouth, Draco bit his tongue. It was too late. Hermione looked at him, concern and suspicion flooding her face, but she did not question it.

* * *

Hermione took the sheet of parchment from Draco's collection, and began to read. "It says here to use an example of a recently developed memory charm in the introduction."

"What's a recently developed memory charm, then?"

"This is _your _homework. You should be doing the work."

"You're the 'brightest witch of our age', though."

Hermione blushed. "Well, there's this one spell, which is very selective. The incantation is _'obliviscar'._ The caster can choose what to remove and what to keep, but it takes a lot of skill. Even some accomplished wizards can't cast the spell without side effects."

"Those side effects being?"

"Oh, nausea, accidental removal of other memories, in the worst cases, the spell can bring on early memory loss and other diseases, there've been a few reported cases of dementia, which, even for wizards, is very hard to cure."

"So it's like _obliviate_, then?"

"It's more selective, _obliviate _is a clumsy spell, and it can easily backfire. _Obliviscar _on the other hand, you can remove anything, everything you want. You can remove every moment of pain a person has ever felt, every moment of love, every moment of happiness."

"I can think of a few people I'd like to use that on."

"Draco, you can't. It's too dangerous. Anyway, write that down. What's the next part of the essay?"

They ploughed through the rest essay in less than half an hour, luckily - although Hermione disproved of it - Draco possessed a quik-writ quill, which wrote unassisted at twice than normal speed. As Hermione uttered things for the quill to write, Draco lay sprawled on the floor of the Room, pawing over the many books he had brought with him for anything useful. Occasionally, he would order the quill to rewrite a paragraph she had dictated, in case Professor Flitwick thought the work was too Hermione-ish. The two had worked out quite an efficient system, making general conversation about how terrible the weather had been, trying to avoid looking each other in the eye.

* * *

Suddenly, Draco pounced into the space next to Hermione, a look of extreme seriousness flickering in his eyes.

"You need to answer me truthfully. You haven't you told anyone, have you?"

Hermione smirked. "You know, Harry's driving himself mad thinking about what you're up to."

"You can't tell _anyone._ Not about me being here, not about this, anything. Promise me. Please."

"Draco, why are you so adamant that no one knows?" Hermione's eye flicked up to Draco's, which were studying her face.

"I like my privacy, Granger."

There was something in his voice that Hermione didn't trust. "Draco, if something bigger is going on here, if something is at risk, if someone could get hurt, you need to tell me."

"Nothing's at risk."

"How can I believe you?"

"Trust me." There was a slight suggestion of pleading underneath his sneer.

"Why would I trust you, after everything that's happened before? The number of times you've gotten me or Harry or Ron into trouble, the number of times you've stuck your nose into other people's business, honestly."

"You don't believe people can change?"

"I don't believe people can change just like that. Anyway, I haven't told anyone."

Draco breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He was safe, for now. "Oh thank Merlin. Now, Potions!"

"What?"

"Come on, I have Potions too. Chop chop."

"The deal was Charms. I am not helping you with Potions."

"I thought you said you'd help me."

"I meant that on a personal level. It did not imply that I would help you with your _homework_."

"Fine, if that's how you feel." Draco gave an over exaggerated sniff, and pulled a mock pout, staring at Hermione with his interpretation of 'puppy dog eyes'.

"Draco, that is the most hideous expression I've ever seen on any living creature, and I've seen an angry troll and a confused giant."

"Aren't trolls _always _angry, Granger?"

"They appear to be quite content whenever they're hitting people over the head with their clubs, Malfoy."

"_Please_? You don't want me to fail Potions now, do you?"

"I have no concern for your education whatsoever."

"I always thought you were a great beacon for advocating education, Granger. I am appalled."

"Don't turn this on me. You're the one who hasn't done their homework."

"I'll tell Crabbe and Goyle to stop abusing you in the corridors."

"I will not be blackmailed into doing your homework for you."

"It's not blackmail. Please. I implore you."

"How much Potions homework have you got?" Hermione cried, even more despairingly than before.

"Enough. We're in for a long night, Granger."

"What makes you think that I'm going to stay?"

"I was under the impression, tell me if I'm wrong, that you were starting to enjoy yourself. You've got that studious look in your eye, you always get it in lessons, when you're determined to get something right, be it a spell, a potion, a Runes translation…" Draco tailed off. Had he been rambling about Hermione Granger's work ethics?

"You've noticed that?"

"I suppose I was going to tease you about it at some point, and forgot to."

"How long is a long night?"

"As long as it takes for this to get done. I can't afford a detention."

"Oh, fine, okay then." Draco gave half a smile as Hermione deliberated over further breaking the rules. "No. I can't. Everyone will be worried. Shouldn't people be out searching for us already, it's - " Hermione looked to her watch. A look of horror filled her eyes. It was two twenty-seven, in the morning. Hermione had never been out of bed this late before without Harry or Ron, and she certainly hadn't dreamed of being out of bed this late in her NEWT year, especially with Draco Malfoy, of _all_ people.

"I'm so sorry, Draco, I have to go. It's so late! Everyone will be - "

"Everyone will be worried. Do you really think _Weasley _is worried about you, now that he has Lavender Brown doting over him?"

"He might be a complete arse, but he's still my friend, one of my best friends, in fact. I know he'll be worried."

"Oh come on, Granger, do something risky and exciting for once in your life."

"Risky and exciting being doing homework in the Room of Requirement with a Slytherin? No, Draco, I can't. I have to go." Hermione rushed to her feet, grabbed the book of Keats, and ran to the door of the Room. As she opened it, she looked back at Draco, an apologetic look on her face. Draco stared at her, half bemused, half disappointed.

"Thanks for the help with Charms, Hermione."

"That's alright, Draco. It was…fun."

"Fun, of course," Draco shook his head at the idea that school work could ever be 'fun', "when will I see you again?"

"I don't know, Saturday?"

"Saturday, yes. We can attempt Defence Against the Dark Arts then."

"What time?"

"Anytime. I'll be here," he gestured to the Room around him, "all day."

Hermione gave a quick nod, and what seemed like an awkward smile, and curtly left the Room. Draco smiled to himself. She hadn't told anyone. She didn't appear to suspect much. She had helped him with his Charms. Taking everything into account, the evening had been rather productive. He reached over to his bag, pulled out the Potions essay question, and began to dictate to the quill. Absent minded, he let his eyes wander around the Room Hermione had required, and marvelled at the little balls of light which Hermione had conjured, which vibrated softly against the ceiling. He summoned one down with his wand, and it floated gently in his hands, emitting a wonderful, warm kind of magic. Draco had to give her some credit; she really was a remarkable witch.


	6. The Most Important Word

**Chapter Six**

**The Most Important Word**

Hermione stood outside the Room of Requirement, her hand outstretched on the door handle, but unable to turn it. It was early evening, on Saturday, just as she and Draco had agreed. This would be their fourth meeting, the fourth time she disappeared without warning. Harry, Ginny, even Ron were beginning to worry, become suspicious. One could only lose their copy of Hogwarts A History so many times. Hermione had never been one to venture off on her own; she had never really kept any great secrets from her friends, the only recent one being her feelings for Ron. Of course, she would have to tell Harry and Ron about it at _some _point, it was inevitable that they would discover Draco's frequenting the Room eventually.

Seeing Harry and Ron discussing Draco made her feel exceptionally guilty, partly because she knew where he kept disappearing off to, and partly because she was considering breaking her promise to not tell anyone about his whereabouts. Hermione was always true to her word, in her lifetime she had broken very few promises, but now, she couldn't escape the feeling that something greater was at risk. The idea that someone could be hurt because of whatever Draco was doing in the Room of Requirement was so painful it didn't bear thinking about. She knew that she should have a little more faith in the boy, but after five years of Draco's plotting and scheming, she just couldn't bring herself to trust him, just yet.

What made Hermione's position continually worse was that the majority of the female population of Gryffindor house was beginning to suspect something, thanks to her fellow sixth-years. When she had returned at two thirty in the morning the night she had helped Draco with his Charms, an unimpressed Lavender, and Parvati Patil, her roommates, greeted her, bombarding her with questions about her whereabouts, which resulted in them concluding that Hermione had a secret boyfriend in a different house. The mood in the room, which before had been immensely hostile, suddenly became warm and, for want of a better word, girly, as Lavender and Parvati began to speculate whom on earth this mystery boy could be, while Hermione sat mortified on her bed. Of course, Hermione knew full well that her relationship with Draco was barely friendly, let alone romantic, but to prevent further questions she had nodded despairingly at their suggestions of which house the mystery boy was in, how tall he was, how good looking he was, how talented at Quidditch he was. Luckily for Hermione, Lavender and Parvati concluded that she was seeing Cormac McLaggen, the burly, brutish seventh-year who, somehow, had lost out on the Gryffindor keeper position. The idea that she was seeing Cormac wasn't _entirely _untrue; after all, she was going to be attending Slughorn's Christmas party with him. The thought made her shudder. McLaggen, as attractive as he may be, was repugnant. Hermione smiled faintly as she imagined the boy who really worked behind the door of the Room of Requirement. Draco Malfoy definitely wasn't a broad six-foot-two Gryffindor seventh-year, with messy hair and a brooding stare. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Hermione turned the handle, and the door swung open.

* * *

Greeted by the now familiar smell of the Room of Hidden Things, Hermione wandered through the great towers of abandoned possessions that made up the labyrinth, towards the place she knew Draco would be. He had been right; the Room had a knack for knowing where you wanted to go. Sure enough, she turned one last corner, and there he was, sitting in one of the two chairs they had claimed as their own, his eyes closed. He would have appeared to be sleeping, if it weren't for the key he was toying with in his long fingers. Even from a distance, Hermione could tell what the key unlocked. The intricate ironwork was identical to that of the cabinet she had seen Draco with before. So, Draco _did _have something to do with the cabinet. She had known it. A sense of alarm traipsed through Hermione's body, was this why Draco was frequenting the Room? Was the cabinet the reason why he didn't want her telling anyone about his whereabouts? What was it for? Question upon question raged in Hermione's mind, but she held her tongue. If she was to get the answers to all her questions, she would have to bide her time. Perhaps, she could…gather information about Draco. No, it was unthinkable; she couldn't _spy._ Pushing the thought to the very back of her mind, Hermione sank into her chair, trying to control her quickened breathing. Slowly, Draco opened his eyes, looked over to Hermione, and gave a casual smile. Seeing Draco smile was strange, after six years of sneering. It made Hermione feel somewhat uncomfortable.

"Granger, I thought you'd never show up." Draco murmured through an awkward smile, hints of relief traipsing through his voice.

"You said anytime."

"Oh, yes, I did. Silly me. Thanks for the help with my Charms, you really saved my neck." His eyes were closed again; he spoke groggily, as if he had just woken from a deep sleep.

"It's alright," said Hermione through gritted teeth.

"Thank you, truly. I know it must have been hard, helping me _cheat_."

"It wasn't cheating, it was only - "

"Only homework? I'm astonished, Hermione. I thought, to you, _nothing_ was more important than homework," Draco teased, giving a small smile as he rearranged himself in his.

"Shut up, Malfoy," her voice defensive.

"Sorry. I'm tired. Haven't been sleeping much lately."

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No, stay, we have much to discuss."

"What have we got to discuss?"

"We have to discuss why on earth you're going to Slughorn's party with _Cormac_ _McLaggen,_" he sniggered, "it's spread around like wildfire, the whole school knows. I would have thought you'd have better taste in rebounds."

"Why do you care who I spend time with?"

Draco opened his eyes again, and raised his eyebrows comically at Hermione. "Wouldn't want you mixing with the wrong people, now would we?" Hermione stifled a laugh. "You're doing it to get back at _Weasley_ aren't you? It's rather obvious."

"I am not. Cormac happens to be a gentleman." It was Draco's turn to laugh.

"McLaggen, that brute, a gentleman?" he said, wiping a fake tear from his eye, "I've never heard something so preposterous in my life, Hermione. Well, except your apparent infatuation with Weasley."

"Malfoy, do you want to leave this room with slugs for feet? If you do, I gladly volunteer to hex you."

"Calm down, Hermione. I'm only playing, what do you see in Weasley, anyway?"

Hermione snorted, disdainfully, "I am _not_ discussing my romantic interests with _you_, Malfoy."

"Oh, come on."

"No!"

"Why not?"

"Because, Draco, you've hated me for six years, and I haven't exactly liked you much either. I'm not prepared to discuss such personal matters with you, when a few months ago you were calling me a mudblood every two minutes."

"Do you think I don't feel uncomfortable, too? It's as strange for me as it is for you, Hermione. At least _I'm trying_. We could both pretend as if this wasn't happening, as if we both weren't stood in this room, arguing, but it is. It is happening, and there is no changing that." Draco was unsure whether he was lying or not. Even now, he didn't truly know why had made such a great effort to make conversation with Hermione. She was right not to trust him, she was right not to want to talk to him.

Giving an exasperated scream, Hermione rose from her chair. It crossed her mind that she was being irrationally angry, but she didn't care. Draco had pushed his luck too far. Livid, she stormed towards the door of the Room, her hair getting progressively bushier, her face turning a violent shade of red. Wandering aimlessly around the Room, Hermione fought back tears of frustration, before collapsing into a great mound of partially exploded cushions. Resting her head in her hands, she tried to judge whether it was worth her ever coming back to the Room, if Draco would constantly be brutish and a git. Never quite coming to a conclusion, she closed her eyes, and somehow managed to block out the world.

* * *

The Room of Requirement was never quiet. Even when it was void of humans, creatures still lurked in its corners, frequenting the shadows, filling the Room with a constant hum. It was something like static, but less manufactured. This noise was undeniably magical. The hum was so unbroken and unceasing that became the silence. Occasionally, one might hear a chirp from a long forgotten canary bird, or the ribbit of an escaped toad, but once these sudden outbursts of noise ceased, the room would return to its contented buzz. If you didn't know any better, you might think the Room was alive. Of course, in that moment in time, the Room was alive. It was alive with the conflicting emotions of two confused, distressed children. It's funny, how that happens. How the world is alive with our thoughts, our feelings, and our doings. It's also cruel. As the world is alive with our thoughts, it suffers with them. Our evil thoughts, our wrong doings, and the pain we make others feel; the world feels too. More often then not, the world suffers more than we do; it feels the effects of our wars long after the wars are ended. The Room, however, unlike the world, possessed a strange and wonderful kind of magic. Ancient, and inconceivable powerful, the Room could sense the loneliness of its two inhabitants. Knowing its true requirement, the Room began to bring them together. The boy thought he had to mend something broken. The girl thought she had to escape from the people she loved the most. In reality, all they required was a friend. So the Room, oh so very cleverly, sent the boy searching for the girl, breaking the silence with his footsteps. The Room, however, cannot control emotions, merely situations, so even it was pleasantly surprised to hear the boy and the girl both mutter the most important word to ever exist; _sorry_.


	7. Drowning

**Chapter Seven**

**Drowning**

Breathe. Blink. Breathe. Look ahead. A pattern formed in Draco's head, as he sat, quite still, beside Hermione, hugging his knees to his chest, as she did the same. The two looked like quite a sorry pair, both looking to the floor dejectedly, an increasing amount of awkwardness engulfing them. He was tempted to just stand up and walk away, from Hermione, from his problems, from the world. He could just live in the Room forever, hide away from everyone who wanted too much from him. The Vanishing Cabinet was still broken, despite his best efforts, and it was becoming clearer and clearer to Draco that he probably wouldn't be able to finish his task. He gave a visible shudder at the thought, if he didn't complete the Cabinet and kill Dumbledore, the Dark Lord would kill him. Murder him. He was just one person, just a boy. A sudden, radical thought burst into his mind, what if he could get Hermione to help him repair the Cabinet? She wouldn't have to know what it was for, and as she was the brightest witch of their age, with her help the job would be done in months, if not weeks. Then, this sudden flicker of hope died. She would require an explanation. She was smart; Hermione wouldn't help him repair something with so dark a purpose. She would find out eventually, about the purpose of the Cabinet, even if she wasn't helping him with it. It would be better if they stopped meeting all together, less dangerous. Draco sighed, forlornly. It would never work. He should just accept his fate now, and face death. Steadily, he breathed in, and as he exhaled, he spoke.

"Lots of our conversations start with the word 'sorry', don't they?"

"That seems to be the case, Draco." Hermione shot him a look that said 'obviously', but then her eyes shied away, apologetically.

"We're both rather volatile, aren't we?"

"Volatile. I like that," Hermione allowed herself a smile, "yes, we are volatile. Everything with Ron and Lavender, and Harry, and…other things, they're all just getting to my head, and making me lash out, and I try to stop it, I really do, but sometimes I just _can't_." The beginnings of tears welled in Hermione's eyes as she spoke, making her eyes glisten as the light was reflected off the fluid.

"I know what you mean. So many people expect so much of me, and it's so overwhelming. We're both overwhelmed." The words spilled from their mouths like a spring of truth, unstoppable, uncontrollable, unceasing.

"We're drowning, Draco."

"Drowning in what?"

"I don't know," slowly, experimentally, Hermione rested her head on Draco's shoulder, giving a slight yawn in the process, "ourselves."

Draco turned his head slightly to look down at the girl whose head rested against him. This was the first contact they'd had, in the Room, the first physical contact anyway. Strangely, he didn't object to it. Hermione, although she wasn't in the same position he was, understood what it was like to be alone and afraid. She understood what it was like to have people relying on you, and she understood that Draco was in trouble. More importantly, she accepted it. She hadn't questioned why he was in the Room yet, although Draco presumed that she was questioning herself, trying to figure it all out. Looking at her bushy mess of hair, which was now pulled back into a ponytail, he imagined the gears in her brain turning and whirring, trying to fathom what the Cabinet had to do with the Room of Requirement. It was an intricate image, in his mind; the machine of Hermione's mind wasn't clunky or grey, but rather golden and spindly, like some fine clockwork, logical and quick. A clockwork mind. Without thinking, Draco rested his head upon hers. "If we're drowning, Hermione, then why can't we just swim out of it all?"

"I've forgotten how to swim, Draco. I'm so tired. I've been drowning for so long." Her voice broke with the fresh onslaught of tears. Nothing was said, for a while, because both had acknowledged that nothing more needed to be said. They sat there, neither knew how long for, supporting each other. Not though comforting words, or physical acts, but by being there, just by being there. The silence made Hermione feel drowsy. After the events of the past months, she hadn't really realised how very tired she was until now, but even then, she was the first to break the silence.

"I think we need to decide whether we're going to meet in here again," Hermione sniffed, rubbing her eyes as new tears began to trickle down her cheeks.

"Do you want to meet again?"

"Do you?"

Draco inconspicuously glanced at Hermione. "Perhaps."

"I won't leave this up to chance. I need order in my life, Malfoy."

"Why not try a little spontaneity?"

Hermione thought of all the times she had broken the rules for Harry, or Ron, all the times they had fallen into the path of danger, and muttered, "each time I try something spontaneous, it ends in disaster."

"It's hard. I know very well that this entire situation is very strange. I have no real way to tell whether you're not relaying about everything I say back to Potter. I physically can't trust you, but I want to. For some strange reason, I want to trust you. I want to have conversations with you, Granger."

"Strangely, I feel the same way."

"Then it's settled."

"I suppose it is, whatever it is."

"It. This. Us. It's either going to end well, or it won't."

"It won't end well will it?"

"Probably not, Granger."

Gently, Hermione lifted her head from Draco's shoulder, and wiped away the last of her tears. Draco responded by awkwardly shuffling away from her, so that there was about a foot between them. She rose from the floor, and stood in front of Draco, surveying him, trying to catch a glimpse of truth in his eyes. This was madness. No matter how confused and hurt she was feeling over Ron and Lavender, it was nothing compared to how confused she was by Draco Malfoy. He sat below her, tapping his chin against his knees, over and over again. Hermione longed to know what could have driven Draco to change so very much. She had to find out the truth. She had to find out why he was so broken now. So very changed; he didn't brood, he sneered, although, lately his snarl was more infrequent, a look of concern and worry inhabiting his face. Every single time she saw him, in the Room, or in passing in the corridors, he appeared more tired, his pallor more grey, the shadows under his eyes darker and more deep set. No longer did he patrol the halls with Crabbe and Goyle, he was rarely seen with any of his old cronies. Even if he didn't admit it, he was lonely. She couldn't let him stay in the Room alone.

* * *

They sat in silence again, still resting their heads upon each other. Draco knew that if they were both in their right minds, which at this point in time they obviously weren't, this would never happen. Draco had so little contact with people anymore, so little physical contact, he couldn't tell himself it wasn't slightly comforting to feel someone there.

"I think we need to decide whether we're going to be nice to each other or not."

"You know it's not in my nature to be _nice_, Granger."

"I need something constant. I can't keep coming here, and not know whether to expect_ this _or you to shout abuse at me. It's even happened today, an hour ago we were yelling at each other, and now, there's just this."

"I think I prefer this, to be completely honest."

"So do I. This is more what I had in mind when I said we could help each other."

"I still don't know how that'll work. You most certainly can't help me."

"I can try. I'll try," Hermione shook her head, "what are we doing here, Draco?"

"I don't know," Draco sighed, his voice heavy, "I just need someone I can trust, someone who I can talk to. We've agreed to help each other, how is a mystery to me, but an agreement is an agreement."

"I can't help you unless you tell me the truth."

"I _can't_, Granger. I physically can't."

"Why not?"

"It's a month until the Christmas holidays."

"Are you just finding random topics to change the conversation?"

Draco ignored her last comment, "I don't think we should meet until then."

"That's probably a good idea."

"Don't tell Potter and Weasley," Hermione raised her eyebrows, "please don't tell Potter and Weasley."

"I expect a full explanation of _everything _when we return from the holidays, Malfoy."

Draco rubbed his forehead, a slight frown appearing on his brow, "Merry Christmas, Hermione" awkwardly, he held out his hand. Hermione couldn't help but laugh, and shook it, perhaps too gently, perhaps for too long. Her eyes drifted towards the cabinet Draco was constantly around as she turned to leave, and gave a sudden gasp of realisation. It was the _Vanishing _Cabinet.

* * *

I'm terribly sorry for the delay in the update, I've been hit really hard with writer's block at the moment, hence why this chapter is exceedingly bad. I'm sorry for any pain you may have experienced reading it.


	8. Confrontations

**Chapter Eight**

**Confrontations**

The Christmas holidays has passed slowly. Being away from Hogwarts had meant that for some weeks, Draco was away from the Vanishing Cabinet, unable to repair it, unable to work at it, unable to do much at all. Most of his days had been spent in his room, away from his mother, or his aunt, or any of his family. Draco was becoming increasingly wary of his family. His formidable aunt Bellatrix was at Malfoy Manor almost every day, her fanatic and recalcitrant dark aura quelling any of the little light the house held. Those days, even in wintertime, the house was unnaturally cold. Even the great fires that were kept burning well throughout the season shuddered from the bitter air. The cold seemed to subdue any events or occurrences, little was said, for fear of _someone _overhearing them, be it the Ministry, or someone a lot worse. Draco sat on his bed most days, reading one book over and over, his schoolwork vastly untouched.

The only noteworthy thing that had occurred at all was Lucius Malfoy's arrest and imprisonment in Azkaban. Late one night, some hours after Draco's bedside clock had chimed twelve; Ministry officials had stormed into Malfoy Manor, casting _stupefy _at anything that moved, the prospect of an arrest driving their franticness. Lucius had attempted to flee, but he was caught within the hour. When his mother had come into his room, in an erratic fit, Draco had delved under the covers of his bed, appearing asleep, so not to look his mother in the eyes. Now he came to think of it, he hadn't looked at his mother properly since that night, even now, as he stood in the Room, tracing his fingers over the intricate, terrible detail of the Vanishing Cabinet, he wondered if he ever would again. Around him, the Room whispered with the echo of metal chiming off itself, a sound that told him he was no longer alone.

* * *

_Three hours earlier_

Darkness had engulfed the castle. Draco found his way by memory, avoiding the candle lit corridors, preferring to snake through Hogwarts' other, darker, more labyrinthine passages. He liked it better this way; there was less chance of being discovered. It was late; the sun had set long ago, the further into the depths of the castle Draco ventured the thicker the darkness became. He ventured down flight after flight of stairs, jumping the last four or so steps. He flew like some strange creature, with his cloak billowing behind him, towards the dungeons. 'Insolent third years,' Draco thought, 'why would Snape be in the Astronomy tower?' For the past hour, the boy had searched all over the castle for the professor, venturing to the furthest reaches of the castle, every tower, and every room. The last place to look was the dungeons.

His pace quickened, his curiosity and apprehension at his summons by Snape feeding his speed. What did he want now? So far this year, Snape had only caused him grief. It seemed as if the professor was determined to prevent Draco from completing the Vanishing Cabinet with no assistance. Draco didn't need Snape's help. This was his task, the Dark Lord had given it to _him_, and if he was to finish it, he was to finish it alone. However apparent it was to Draco that he would most definitely fail, the last thing he wanted was Snape involved. He knew that Snape had made the Unbreakable Vow, but that didn't bother Draco. What was it to him if Snape died? Finally, Draco burst into Snape's office, only to find it empty. Instead of a professor, Draco found only a small envelope, which in turn contained only a small piece of parchment. What was written on the parchment, undeniably in Snape's hand, made Draco's heart sink.

'_Getting cosy with Granger in the Room of Requirement? I hope, for your sake, that you know what you're doing.'_

* * *

Draco turned to face whoever was coming towards him. Before receiving that note, he would have been sure it was Hermione, but now, he couldn't be certain. Would Snape come gliding around that corner, a menacing grin on his face? Or, Merlin forbid, Dumbledore? That old fool knew everything that happened in the castle. Draco drew a deep, shaky breath, and closed his eyes, almost flinching, as the footsteps came ever closer.

"Draco?"

He gave a great sigh of relief. He could tell from the softness in her voice, the curiosity, that it was Hermione. Giving a thankful smile, he spoke. "I thought you would never come back, Granger." There was something playful about his sarcastic tone, which surprised even Draco himself. Until this point, he had been frankly miserable. Opening his eyes, his gaze automatically found hers, and their eyes met. For the first time, neither looked away.

"I promised to come back, remember, Malfoy? I couldn't leave you in here _alone_, now could I? Merlin knows what you're doing." At the last remark, a grave look erupted in Hermione's eyes. Her expression became stiffer, more controlled, and Draco's heart sank again for the second time that day. She knew. He wasn't sure how much, as he certainly hadn't _said_ anything about it, but she was clever, for all he knew, Hermione could be a talented Legilimens, she could have invaded his mind, and she could know everything. That being said, she could equally know very little. All he had heard was her gasp as she realised what the Cabinet actually was. It had taken her long enough.

"I'm predicting your holiday was agreeable?" he asked, half-heartedly.

"That's the Vanishing Cabinet," she said, seriously.

"Is it? I hadn't noticed," even at this time, Draco's smirk didn't fail him.

"Do you have something to do with this Vanishing Cabinet, Draco?" Hermione knew she didn't have to ask. She had seen him with it far too many times for it to be mere coincidence.

"Perhaps."

"Draco, you said, some time ago, that no one would get hurt because of what you're doing in here. Is that still true?" Her eyes pleaded for honesty.

Draco breathed slowly, fabricating some magnificent lie in his mind. "Of course."

"What are you doing with the Vanishing Cabinet?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I said I was fixing it because I was scared, would you?" For all his faults, Draco prided himself on his illustrious ability to tell lies.

"No, I wouldn't, but go on."

"Once it's fixed, I'll use it to hide."

An incredulous look appeared on Hermione's face. "Hide from what, Draco?" They were quite some distance from each other, the furthest they had been since the first meeting in the Room. It was quite a contrast to the most recent encounter. Hermione blushed slightly at the memory of the two of them, sat, their heads resting on the others. It had been nice to have some personal, human contact.

"There'll come a time when we have to hide from everything. We all have our demons. I have to be prepared." Finally, Draco broke their gaze, looking away from Hermione as he turned to the Cabinet again.

Hermione wasn't deterred. She marched up to the boy with a little too much vigour, and stood next to him, her arms crossed, her eyebrows raised. "What are you hiding from, Draco?"

Once again, Draco looked at her. This time, Hermione saw a true sadness dance in his eyes, mournfulness perhaps. What was he mourning? In the shadow of the Vanishing Cabinet, the darkness under his eyes seemed so angry, so engulfing, like the shadows that seethed beneath his eyes threatened to erupt to his entire face, his body, his being. "They arrested my father over the holidays."

"I heard. He tried to run."

"They caught him, though. People always get caught in the end, by one side or the other. What if they come looking for me too?"

"What do you mean? Are you keeping something from me - "

"What if they think I know something? What if they think I can help them, give them information?"

"Who is 'they', Draco?"

"I don't know yet." Then, much to Hermione's surprise, a tear slipped from Draco's eyes, and he rushed forward, burying his head in her hair, wrapping his arms around her, in what appeared to be a…_hug? _Flabbergasted, Hermione awkwardly patted Draco on the shoulder. "What if they want to kill me, Hermione? They're going to murder me." Draco was unmistakably sobbing now. Hermione stood quite stiff, her arms at her sides, as she tried to process the emotional breakdown of the boy who still clung to her. Tentatively, she reached up and pulled her hair away from his face, and placed her arms around his waist and back, cradling him.

"Dumbledore would never let that happen, Draco," she whispered reassuringly into his ear.

"Dumbledore isn't exactly around anymore, is he, Hermione?" He sniffed. "I'm a dead man."

Gently, Hermione started to sway back and forth, as she had seen Mrs Weasley do to her children whenever they got upset. It was a universal sign of compassion. "You're not a dead man. I won't allow it." A natural nurturing instinct had taken over Hermione, and she found herself lightly stroking Draco's hair, murmuring 'shush, hush' in an attempt to quell his sobs. Eventually, they broke apart; Draco flushed a deep shade of scarlet, which looked drastically unnatural against his pale face.

"I'm sorry…"

"It's alright, Draco. Everyone needs a little compassion every once in a while," Hermione shifted her balance between her feet uncomfortably, "when was the last time someone gave you a hug?"

Draco flushed even more violent red. "Last summer. Mother."

"When was the last time someone apart from your _mother _hugged you?"

"Parkinson. The end of fifth year."

"Oh, I forgot, she's your girlfriend, isn't she?"

Draco snorted, regaining some of his paleness, "hardly. She just followed me around for so long, it seemed like such a waste of her time for her not to do anything productive."

"_Productive? _What, productive like _snogging?_"

"Perhaps. Anyway, I don't want to talk about it."

"Oh, fine, we're not allowed to talk about _your _love life, but it's perfectly fine to barge in on mine?"

"Maybe another time. I'm not exactly in the mood to be discussing relationships as of late, Granger." Not allowing her to retort, Draco set off in the direction of their two chairs, leaving Hermione to scurry behind him.

* * *

Neither quite knew what had happened. All Hermione knew was that she had not only comforted Draco Malfoy, but that she had comforted him. Her hair was still a little damp with his tears. Brushing through the bushiness with her fingers in an attempt to dry away the tears, Hermione spied a small, creased paperback in Draco's hands, as he sat as he always did, his hands resting on his ankles.

"It's Keats," he said, lifting up the book so that Hermione could read the cover: _'John Keats: Bright Star and Other Poems'_. "I found it hanging around the Room after you had left the last time. It was the only thing I read over the holidays. I wanted to understand why you liked him so much. I was pleasantly surprised, really."

A sudden rush of excitement waved over Hermione. She could finally have a discussion about _literature _with someone. "Oh, have you read his letters? They're so heart wrenching and exquisite and perfect. Which poem is your favourite? Which stanza? Which quote?" It all came out in a jumbled mess, like most bibliophiles, whenever literature or poetry was involved, Hermione just became an overexcited schoolgirl.

"I don't know what a _stanza_ is, Granger, and I haven't read his letters. Although, there is this one poem, '_What can I do to drive away remembrance from my eyes_', I can't make sense of it, but it is rather beautiful."

"Oh, isn't it just? It's my absolute _favourite_. He wrote it as one of his last expressions of his love for his fiancée, because he was dying. His absolute love was so painful because he knew that he was dying, and he knew they'd never be together, and he wrote it, wondering what would happen if he could just forget, how he could just forget her, because it was too painful knowing that she'd live on without him. He knew that he'd never be able to escape that love, he was eternally bound to it, and he knows she can't be taken away from him, he knows he'd never be able to forget her. They'd never be together, but they'd never be apart. It's so beautiful and poignant and wonderful and terrible." Draco did nothing but nod in agreement. He flicked through his book a little, until he came to a page with another poem he quite liked, and read it aloud to Hermione. They sat like that for some hours, discussing poetry, escaping their real lives, well into the night.


End file.
